


mantle

by thalmor



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls Online
Genre: Angst, Fantasy Racism, M/M, Magical Corruption, Manipulation, Nightmares, No idea how to tag this one, Other, kallalon is only mentioned, mixed race character, more naemon sadness about estre, naemon needs a therapist, pelidil is a little iffy, shakes fist at pelidil, trans prince naemon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:48:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28993188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thalmor/pseuds/thalmor
Summary: prince naemon is plagued by nightmares and grief over his wife's execution, yet loyal to queen ayrenn is he
Relationships: Prince Naemon/Kallalon, Prince Naemon/Original Male Character(s), Trans Male/Trans Male
Comments: 6
Kudos: 7





	1. confidant

**Author's Note:**

> "i would scream too if pelidil woke me up" - bex, 2021

Nights were always cruel to Naemon.  


When he was younger, much younger, when Ayrenn had never disappeared and there was no Vicereeve, she was his sister, his big sister, who sometimes would come into his room when it was alive with his screams of awoken terror and soothed them with a familiar embrace. Then, when she left their home, Vicereeve Pelidil took her place. Naemon wished her back, then when she returned, a part of him wished her away.  


Pelidil would not come yet, if at all, Naemon was still sleeping. Another cruel night. The Prince could see nothing but black, yet his eyes were open.  


He tried to close his eyes to wake himself back up but when he opened them again there was still nothing. Slowly but surely he could see himself only as a dark purple illuminated him and turned his skin similar. Soothing himself was hardly an option.  


_"The King of Summerset."_ A voice mocked. A Khajiit stood in front of him, or at least the shadow of one, just barely opaque. The words gave him a knee jerk reaction.  


"I'm not the King," Naemon corrected as he cleared his throat. _Be strong, be noble._ He demanded, "Who are you?"  


_"You."_ The shadow smiled till sharp feline teeth flashed amidst void purple. Perhaps this was Vaermina, surely, that was what his years of nightmares were determined to be… but this, it felt different.  


"No," Naemon struggled to swallow his fear, but the Khajiit kept smiling, as if he sensed it, enjoyed it. He shook his head. "No, you are not."  


_"But, I am, sweetmeat, I am you and you are me."_ The elf narrowed his eyes, and tried to step away as he started shaking, move away, but he was stuck where he was. His feet were freezing as if ice encapsulated them, yet he saw nothing when he looked down. Only black. The shade continued. The hissing of the cat’s words sent chills down his spine. _"I am what you hide within yourself."_  


Naemon's voice was caught in his throat and only came out in a whisper. "You are not me." Naemon was Altmer, he had no tail, no whiskers, no fur.  


_"I will be."_  


He didn't have time to think of a response to the shade of a cat man before he started falling. There was nothing beneath him to begin with but still his heart rose in his body, his throat caught, and he could see nothing but black as he descended.  


Naemon woke with a shout, choked out from a throat tight with fear, and opened his eyes to see his Vicereeve, sat at the foot of his bed and looking on with concern. He screamed again. Pelidil placed a hand on his blanketed knee to settle him and with heavy breaths, settle he did, at least for the time being. The room was not a void, instead it was wood, scented dusty and natural and illuminated by candles. "It's alright," Pelidil soothed, and his voice was not that of a Khajiit. "A nightmare."  


He already knew that well. Naemon, shaking, drew his legs closer to him as he sat up. Tears threatened to fall but he didn't dare let them. The Vicereeve inched closer atop the warm wood elven furs and took it upon himself to wipe the tears, thumb rubbing beneath the ochre of Naemon's eyes. His lips were a firm line where unobscured by facial hair. Naemon nudged him away and he obliged, only slowly. While Naemon's room was in the tree itself, the Vicereeve and the other many dignitaries and assistants and bureaucrats were housed away. To lie in the royal bedrooms of the Camoran dynasty was supposedly an honor granted, but he would've preferred the other option. "You've come from the Embassy."  


Pelidil nodded. The few windows of the Elden Root tree tinted yellow and made the telling of time hard without the appropriate clocks, but he could tell it was early morning, the sun so dim and freshly awake.  


"Early, yes," The older mer held his head low as he spoke, but he kept his gaze open and staring into Naemon. His blue eyes, they were so eerie, even worse when they appeared in his dreams. Warmth was only given to them by the rest of his softened expression. Only by familiarity did Naemon ever relax at the sight. "I suppose I sensed something wrong."  


_That was a phrase for it._ Naemon barely stopped himself from huffing. The Vicereeve was always at his heel, even when he was at rest, but he never had the mind to outright send him away. The attention was nice, as was the care. Pelidil cared, very much. Naemon tried to blink the tiredness from his eyes as he staved off thoughts of the night. Even when Estre was alive she didn't care about his nightmares, even if she knew, which she didn't. They never slept in the same bed, and the ways night could reduce him to tears was not something he passed around freely nonetheless in awkward conversation. He would always remind himself; time would make it better, make them closer, have Estre love him and care for him, have her hold him in her arms like he desperately wanted someone who wasn’t Pelidil to do, that was what he told himself, until she died.  


_Estre._  


He inhaled sharply at the thought, as if something was driven into his heart. Pelidil startled and his hand was on his knee again, then on his shoulder, and Naemon was nudging and moving away, the room closing in on him. The Vicereeve didn't move, instead positioning himself with his hands on both shoulders and stilling Naemon. "Naemon," Pelidil pleaded. "My Prince, my King, breathe."  


"Estre is dead." Naemon could hardly breathe.  


"Estre is dead." Pelidil echoed him and forced his gaze. The blue, duller than Ayrenn, darker than Estre. Estre and her eyes were like ice, and she regarded him as coolly. Still, she was much of all he had, save for the Vicereeve. Grief felt wrenched from his very soul. Naemon's hands ran frantic against the other man's arms but he remained and would until Naemon settled down. "Yet I am here. I live for you."  


"You are not her." Naemon retorted in a hoarse voice. Pelidil didn't move much but in the warm light Naemon could see a flinch. "She was my wife."  


Upon him speaking with more coherence, the older mer finally let him go, at least with a more gentle hold, hands drooping lower until he pulled away. He was still close, looked at the Prince steady, and repeated.  


"Estre is dead, but you are the Prince, you are heir. You're the one to rule."  


What he was saying barely registered. Naemon shook his head. Strands of hair were all in front of his face. "You're wrong," He felt a mess. Estre would be so embarrassed to see him like this. "Ayrenn is–" _The heir. She was always the intended heir._  


_Not me._  


"A fraud."  


Naemon ignored him in favor of denial. His fear, his weak vulnerability from the night waned and his voice grew an edge. As dizzying as the topic was, he felt his own character restoring, the visions of the night falling away, sadness of grief giving way to the aloof mask he adopted when he wasn't in the privacy of his strange room. His loyalty. Ayrenn could take all from him but she was still, "My older sister. Our queen."  


Pelidil grabbed both sides of his face, hands securing his cheeks, and whispered, as his words were only for Naemon. "You are my king. No one else. Summerset's ruler." It felt like drivel. He tried his best to brush Naemon's hair clear of his eyes. He really did feel like a petulant child all over again, and with the last thing he wanted a reminder of being his older sister, he pulled away with a displeased noise. _I don’t want to hear this, I can’t hear this_.  


Naemon gave up on any argument and attempted to end it simply. "We're not in Summerset."  


Pelidil looked at him, and smiled sadly. Naemon couldn't guess what that meant. Pelidil acquiesced, the topic was dropped, and he stood up and offered a hand to the young Prince. "I'll help you with an early bath, if you'd like. Then, by the time it's done, that filthy Wood Elf will be awake." The Bosmer, Meleras. Naemon would've never thought many wood elves knowledgeable in lore but it was as if he carried an entire book in his head. It was endearing, although he’d hardly ever admit it. _He made for nice conversation, that was for sure._  


As for Pelidil, Naemon would rather be alone, but something about Pelidil's words intrigued him, however wrong they were. Surely, they were wrong. But Pelidil cared for him enough and had for years, and the least Naemon could do was humor. In a way it all worked to soothe him and fill the hole that his wife's betrayal left.  


He accepted his hand, and the other man led him to the vanity and carefully handed him a circlet, made of delicate elven glass forged in the shape of wings and the Aldmeri diamond between his eyes. In foreign lands it was felt necessary to remind of his standing even in early mornings, where his robes barely remained on his thin shoulders and his chest was shown so much between unclasped blue silk that his scars were visible. He felt exhausted.  


Naemon slid the circlet onto his head, straightened his back like a noble mer, and turned to the mirror. Ayrenn's crown always shone so bright, so gold. His, along with his tired eyes, seemed dull.


	2. plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> naemon is little prepared for the arrival of his wife's killer (who he loves)

"Warm." Naemon remarked, lifted his hand from the water of his bath and placed it at the rim of the tub, watching as the irritated red of his fingers wrapped around molded bone. Pelidil blinked, and promptly moved from where he sat near and wrapped his hand around the rim of it, too, but only so his hands could glow cold and he could focus on fixing the temperature. Even upon soaking in a warm bath, Naemon felt stiff. His lack of sleep, what happened during the sleep he managed to get... if only memories could be erased. "Thank you."  


Sometimes he hears of cultures with advisors in more than political and social action, advisors that could help in the mind, help those caught up in melancholy, trauma, help them get better. People who specialize in that and know how to help with magic and knowledge. It's all idle talk, but he could believe it well enough. Just not for the Altmer, not in Summerset. Maybe it was him, his own weakness, his own inability to compose himself. _Pelidil is my advisor. He works well enough._  


"Estre," Naemon kept still as his bath cooled. "I miss her."  


Pelidil was almost done. He looked at Naemon and only spoke gently. "I know." That didn't help much, but Naemon decided that he was lucky to have him anyways. It was harder to think so when Estre was alive, Ayrenn was back, and his mind was so lacking in night fodder that sometimes it could only go to his Vicereeve and the worst of him.  


The mer was much good at keeping secrets, and if that entailed the sort of words he told Naemon before, talk of Naemon being King and the true heir, then it would take an equal amount of "much" to bring them back up again. It was treasonous, technically, but however much he disagreed, Estre was dead and he felt dried of all his care. He'd serve his sister and do his duty and leave it at that. Naemon could keep secrets, too.  


The prince let himself look at Pelidil. He still seemed to be in magical focus, eyes locked at nothing in particular. Pelidil, his face, to him, it looked the same as it did when they first met.  


Naemon pulled his feet up and closer together. In many ways he could feel like nothing was changed. He still felt a child tormented by nightmares that couldn't actually hurt him. Tears threatened to come back. Ayrenn didn't seem to have nightmares when they were children. _Maybe that's why she's Queen and I'm still Prince._  


Naemon thought of night. The Khajiit shadow and his slithering words. King, he said, and he said I will be him. When something in his studies had him in misunderstanding and stuck, he would work his way down a hierarchy of details with varying importance. The only logical first to be answered was who the cat would even be. It was no one he recognized, not like he knew many. He'd read about it, sometime, if only if he had time. The preparation for the ratification ceremony made sure that he didn't.  


"Naemon."  


Pelidil's voice startled him, and the older mer's eyes flicked to where Naemon remained grabbing the tub, now so hard that his knuckles were white. "Oh." was all he said. He let it drop down into the water, gently, so that it wouldn't splash. He hadn’t washed his hair behind where his circlet remained but he suddenly wasn't in the mood to be in the bath for long. "That'll be all."  


Pelidil had just gotten done with cooling it, but he obliged, standing up with dampened knees from the ground next to the tub and retrieving his towels from where they hung on the wall.  


Waiting for his back to be turned, Naemon stood up from the bath and stepped out carefully, steadying himself against slipping. His mind was running. Pelidil turned back around and watched, seeming in thought.  


"The Maormer," The Vicereeve said suddenly as he handed over a hand towel and draped the larger one over the younger man's shoulders. "What do you think of him?"  


Naemon flinched as he dried below and above his eyes. That was the last he wanted to hear, and he looked over at Pelidil in kind but there was no hesitation in his expression. When the Vicereeve set his mind on a topic he had a skill in getting it out of him. Amusing, because it wasn't as if his personal assistant had any charisma.  


"He arrives today, by three…" He hurried in lacing up his robe and covering his privacy and turned away from the other man, turned away from the question. He had to repeat it aloud to remind himself. "He killed Estre."  


"Before that, you were fond?" On cue, Naemon remembered the time he spent with the elf, that half-Maormer and the way he smelled of serene shores, how his eyes were like the sea. Angry, now, it made him angry.  


_What is this?_ Naemon verbally stumbled in defense. "In a way, but…" He lost his words. Pelidil and Kallalon, with all of their talk, damned mer with talents for undoing him so. No longer Kallalon would. He swore on that.  


Pelidil watched him become flustered and wrapped in feelings. His lips quirked, and the direction in which they did changed multiple times. "My apologies, Your Majesty, I was just curious." He bowed his head, then, as Naemon stared at him aghast, to drop the subject.  


Naemon swallowed. "He's loyal to Ayrenn and the Dominion." It wasn't a bad thing, it was good. Naemon knew well. Still Naemon wondered how long it took the man to clean his wife's blood from his sword, and he was angry all over again.  


"Indeed." The Vicereeve left him alone by the mirror as he fetched his daywear, planting his lips on Naemon's forehead upon return, presenting the clothes folded on his wrists. It was typical fashion, a sharp mantle, high collar, flowing lines and flowers, and a cinched, sashed and belted waist, only that it was green. Green, to match the Green now surrounding them.  


* * *

"Do you know of any Khajiit lore?"  


The short and slight Bosmer looked up at him from where he stood besides, seeming surprised at the interest. The studying they did for the ceremony, if any, was all Ayleid and Bosmeri. Interesting in their own right, but what happened the prior night crept up. He wanted to figure out what it could've meant.  


"No," Meleras admitted. Naemon hid disappointment. "I've done some research since the Dominion was born, yes, but it's… I'm rusty." Meleras laughed, flushed.  


Pelidil snorted from where he stood with his arms crossed, and said nothing related to their conversation. "If only those animals could do much right, even now they cause problems."  


"What do you mean?"  


"They've been rioting at the Embassy, over their own, since after I left."  


The Embassy. _Ayrenn could never keep her promises._ He instantly felt his exhaustion creep up on him. He had been stuck within the massive tree since he arrived, only leaving for brief walks of fresh air at the base. Pelidil offered to bring him to the Embassy a short distance away to take a break with him but he refused, in favor of figuring out the ceremony.  


"I trust it will be dealt with, without me." Naemon shut the lore book abruptly, Meleras making a noise of protest, and sighed. "I'll be occupied till the day of."  


"Very well. It will be solved." Pelidil walked up, and placed a hand on Naemon's shoulder as he asked. "If it is alright, Your Highness, I have business to attend to." Naemon assumed it was related to the Embassy. Trying to be grateful, Naemon waved his hand as blessing and Pelidil left the room after a brief bow as courtesy.  


As it turns out, Meleras and Naemon were around the same age. As time passed, Naemon was learning a great deal about many things from the way the Bosmer seemed to never stop talking. Despite himself, he found it hard to be angry at the tiny mer. They were sitting, almost relaxing, in leather seats and reading, pondering, writing in much-craved silence.  


The official placements of the guards throughout the ceremony and preliminary celebrations were to be solidified with the Battlereeve or someone of similar high standing, but still, Naemon suggested it be given precaution beforehand as well. He didn't like to think about it, but Estre was dead, and much could happen in the death throes.  


Meleras, of course, broke the quiet eventually. "Is it true that the elf sent by Queen Ayrenn is a Maormer?" _Damn it._ Naemon sucked air through his teeth.  


"Yes," When Naemon held his hands in Skywatch, the tips of them were tinted green, his breath smelled of mint, his hair so white and soft. "He's half, and looks the part."  


"Fascinating." Meleras said in that same starry-eyed voice he always used. Naemon hid an eyeroll and picked back up his pencil, but at the thought of webbed fingers and finned ears he lost his thought. Defeated, he dropped the pencil with a noise of frustration and sat down completely, to clasp his hands and stare into nothing. “I heard he saved Haven from pirates.” The wood elf looked at him for a response but Naemon only gave a nod before continuing to rest his head. He’d allow himself a brief break, just this once. Then, once he was done, he should be able to accomplish more productivity for his sister, of course.  


Kallalon would arrive later in the day. He, who once said he loved Naemon. The words had surprised him at the time but left his chest warm. Now? It was embroidered with anger. He felt like such a fool. They hadn't even spent much time together in the grand scheme of elven lives. Pelidil had been serving him since the start of heirhood, Estre was betrothed to him for years as well. Kallalon was a few mere months. Kallalon loved him. Naemon loved Estre, like he was supposed to, like he was expected to, until she was ripped away from him. She betrayed his family and Naemon was too much of a fool to even anticipate. Naemon sniffed and in that moment he could feel worsening tears. One fell down his cheek. It was okay, Pelidil wasn’t there to see. _Kallalon loved me, huh._ If Naemon was a fool, Kallalon was, as well. He thought bitterly, _Let him. I see through it. It won't change anything._  


"Okay," Meleras snapped him out of his thoughts, and Naemon was for once thankful for how oblivious he was as he wiped his left cheek with the back of his hand. The wood elf adjusted in his seat and leaned over to hand his papers to Naemon. "I've outlined the stations of guards for the celebration, the feast, and then the procession down to the base of the tree according to what we said."  


Naemon cleared his throat and ignored how tight it felt, forcing a polite smile. He examined the rough scribbling, the rudimentary illustrations of the placements, and nodded wordlessly. His head hurt, his heart, too, but there was work to be done.  


All that was left to figure out was the ceremony, within the Orrery itself. Down beneath the tree would be where Ayrenn would be most vulnerable. He picked back up his pencil and started writing.


End file.
